


Ones You Follow, and Ones You Need to Protect

by days4daisy



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Tension, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Protectiveness, Season/Series 02, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 06:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11225088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Amos picks an interesting way to apologize.





	Ones You Follow, and Ones You Need to Protect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Billythesock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billythesock/gifts).



“You can fuck me if you want.”

Alex glances over the rail, down at the main bridge where Amos is seated at his station. There’s no way he heard that right. “What?”

Amos glances up at him. “I said, you can fuck me if you want." Alex definitely heard him right then. What the hell?

Amos has been worse than usual since they docked back at Tycho. He was always unpredictable, but now? He’s a thread away from certifiable. Hell, a few hours ago Amos was defacing the Martian flag to ease Alex’s temper. Now this?

...Son of a bitch. “Are you _still_ trying to say you’re sorry?”

“If you blow off steam, it’ll be good for everyone,” Amos tells him.

Alex scowls. “Is that what you think? I'll forgive you with a pity fuck?”

“You said you’re not weak,” Amos reasons. “This is a good way to prove it.”

“No, saving your ass proved I’m not weak,” he counters. “And once I get this simulation right? I won’t just be saving you. I’ll save the whole goddamn fleet. That’s what I need, Amos. Not some random sex.”

“Wouldn’t be random,” Amos points out. Alex starts to retort, but Amos beats him to it. “Offer stands if you want it, Alex.”

Alex glowers all the way back to his chair. “Fine,” he snaps. Not like he’ll ever use it.

***

If Amos had any sense, he’d show a little gratitude when he comes to. But...it’s Amos. He takes one look at Alex’s mouth, and his half-conscious gaze goes cold. “You should’ve stayed out of it.”

“Morning, sunshine,” Alex grumbles. It hurts to talk with a split lip, but at least he doesn’t taste any fresh blood in his mouth.

Pirate convoy. Wrong place wrong time. They split the crew, took Cap and Naomi one way, Alex and Amos the other. One of the footmen shoved Alex against a cell door. Amos took offense, decided to take on five guys at once. He could have too, if they didn’t have a taser. Put him down hard, flashbacks of the Donnager. Alex barreled into the closest one before he remembered how stupid it was. They didn’t even bother tasing Alex, just gave him a stiff fist to the face. Split his lip and left him seeing galaxies.

They’ve been here over an hour; Alex dabbing his bloody mouth, Amos dead weight on the floor. Alex hasn’t heard anything from Holden and Naomi. Something must be up, but all they can do now is wait.

Amos is still glaring. “I don’t need you protecting me, Alex.” He grimaces as he sits up. Ribs might be cracked.

“That ain’t for you to decide.”

“Yeah, it is,” Amos argues, louder. “I told you, there’s three kinds of people in the world-”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve protected you, tough guy,” Alex counters. “So what kind of person are you, huh? Go on, you tell me.” It’s a fine line, stoking Amos’ temper. Especially in an enclosed space.

Only, Amos doesn’t seem so mad anymore. Not at Alex, anyway. He pauses on Alex’s broken lip. “Which one did it?” he asks.

Alex rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“No really, which one?”

“Why?” Alex demands. “So you can blast him when we get out of here?”

“I won’t kill him,” Amos promises, in a tone that sounds a little suspect. “Might say hi, that’s all.”

“Amos,” Alex grumbles. But he shifts closer when Amos hisses and tests a hand on his midsection. “They broken?” he asks, nodding towards his ribs.

“Nah.” Amos shakes his head. “Took some shots from the little one though. Punk with the black hair.” He catches Alex’s eyes. “It was him, wasn’t it? He clock you when you weren’t looking?”

Alex sets a careful hand on his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s the one.”

He would normally protest Amos’ violence - it’s out of control, and they’re all worse off for allowing it. But when Naomi busts them out and Amos clobbers the guard, Alex is disturbingly gratified.

It takes a good minute for Holden to pry Amos off the guy. Alex spits at the bloody mess he leaves behind.

***

One nice thing about Tycho: the bars are always stocked with ladies open to a good night.

Alex’s gaze lands on a leggy blonde, slender, bob cut, almond skin. Belter insignia curls around her neck, matching her dress and simple, strappy heels. Their small talk is pleasant. She’s loaded with stories about her time on Tycho, more than the usual bar pick up. Alex may see the inside of her room before the night is out, or maybe not. Either way, it’s a much appreciated break from the Roci.

Amos is here too, keeping an eye on him no doubt. Alex thought he’d made himself clear, the last thing he needs is a damn chaperon.

Amos sits a few bar stools back. Even in a corner, he’s impossible to miss; a hulking mass surrounded by the sterile white of the bar counter and walls. The lights are dim. Alex keeps his back to Amos and tries to fully engage his company. Her name is Sherita. It works for awhile.

They’re discussing ration impositions on Tycho when their glasses run dry. Straight vodka for Alex, house red for the lady. The liquor stings Alex’s still-healing lip. Alex hails the bartender with a raised finger and, “Fresh round; thank you, partner.”

Amos is talking to some young guy with long hair in a bun. One of the working boys, by the looks of his mesh shirt. Amos gets their prompts a lot. He did say he grew up in places like this.

Alex squints; something is exchanged between the two. Is it money, or…

A manicured hand squeezes his. “You ok?” Sherita asks.

“I’m-” Alex starts to say, then stops.

Amos is kissing the kid. A casual nod against each other, mouths barely open. The guy is thin as thread; the whole of him fits in the crook of Amos’ elbow. His bony hands frame Amos’ face and cover the jaw still bruised by pirate boots.

“Can’t lie,” Sherita says, glossed lips beside Alex’s ear. “I like watching them work too.”

“Sorry, darlin’,” Alex murmurs. “Drinks on me, ok?” He’s off his barstool in a blink and heading for the door.

Only - he isn’t heading for the door. He’s heading right for Amos. Before he can think, he pries the kid off. Startled eyes blink at him.

Amos just smiles. Son of a bitch. “We need to go,” Alex tells him.

“Sure thing.” Amos nods to the kid, who still looks confused.

The drum of the lounge’s soundsystem fades into the hollow of Tycho’s empty halls. This time of night, people are boozing it up or busying themselves with other pleasures.

If Amos is upset about the interruption, he doesn’t show it. His expression is even as their boots thump off the metal plated floors.

The Roci’s hangar bay is empty, but the security monitors are always on. Alex keeps his voice low. “What the hell, Amos?”

Amos glances at him. “Not ok?”

“No!” Alex already dreads the next question.

Amos doesn’t disappoint him. “Which part?” he asks.

Alex scales the ladder up to the Roci’s entrance. It’s quiet inside; Holden and Naomi must be out. Either way, Alex keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Or anything, really, other than the ship and the protomolecule.

“You gotta tell me which part, Alex,” Amos presses. “How am I supposed to know what pissed you off if you won’t tell me?”

He has a point. Alex hates when he makes sense. “Forget it,” he hisses. “Pay the whole goddamn space station for favors if you want.”

Alex stalks towards his quarters. Amos’ heavy footsteps follow. “So it’s the money part?” he wonders.

“I said forget it.” Alex punches his entrance code and stalks into his quarters.

The door doesn’t shut fast enough. Amos squeezes in after him, arms folded over his chest. Is he mad? Confused? Amused? It’s impossible to tell, as always.

Alex points at his shut door. “Get out."

Amos’ frown deepens, and Alex instinctively tenses. They’re in tight quarters; a closet-sized room with two stacked bunk beds and a mini table. Not much for Amos to damage if he snaps, but there’s no room for Alex to get past him either.

“Offer stands, Alex,” Amos says.

“What?” Then, Alex remembers. “ _Jesus_ , Amos.”

“You had something going with that chick at the bar. I can make it up to you.” Amos raises a brow. “Or I can go talk to her?”

It takes Alex a minute. Talk to her… As if Alex isn’t a big boy capable of taking care of himself!? “You bastard. Get the hell out.”

“You sure?” Arms still folded. Head tilted. Waiting.

Alex isn’t sure, that’s the problem.

Amos nods at his silence. He punches the exit to Alex’s bunk and leaves without a word.

Alex stares at the shut door panel. “Damn you,” he mutters. He isn’t sure if he’s talking to Amos or himself.

***

“He was hungry.”

Alex frowns. He didn’t even know Amos was here; scary, for a guy his size. Amos is at one of the touch-monitors. “Who was hungry?”

Amos never looks at him. “That kid.” His fingers drum the screen.

It’s been days since the bar, a stretch of embarrassed silence. Alex felt that way, at least. Amos went along like he always does: Volume 1 or 10 with no middle ground.

Alex swipes off his weapons check console and faces him. It’s been days, but Alex knows exactly what he’s talking about. “Could have guessed. Toothpick.”

“I asked how they were treating him. I always ask.” Amos taps the screen. “He was hungry.”

Alex knows where this is going. Feels his own cringe before he states, “So you paid him.”

Amos’ expression never changes much, but Alex has been around long enough to read his change. The slight widening of his eyes, the uncertain frown. “You said I should help,” he explains.

“Goddamn it, Amos.” Alex rubs his face in frustration. “What do you want me to say to that?”

“You said I should help, so I did.”

Alex doesn’t want Amos to follow orders. He wants him to help people because it’s the right thing to do! Because it will prove Amos is a functioning human being! Alex's eyes narrow. “Since when do you do something because I tell you to?”

Amos starts to say something but falls silent again. His gaze shifts uncomfortably between Alex and the data screen. Alex can still see the bruises on his jaw where that black-haired punk kicked him in the face.

There are three types of people in Amos’ world: bad people, people you follow, and people you have to protect. Alex was someone for Amos to protect. Now what is he to Amos? Someone to follow? Alex doesn’t like this. He doesn’t want Amos on him like some guard dog, but he doesn’t want to hold the guy’s leash either. He wants… He doesn’t know what the hell he wants.

“Hey, Amos.”

“Yeah?”

“That, uh, offer you made. It still good?”

Amos’ eyes snap towards Alex. “Now?”

Of all the goddamn responses. Alex huffs to hide embarrassment. “Seriously? You- nevermind! You’re the one who-”

“Yeah, sure.”

Alex’s brows rise halfway up his forehead. “Yeah?”

Amos nods. “Later. When it’s not weird.”

Alex scowls; sure as hell isn't his fault if things are weird now. “Fine,” he agrees. “Later.”

He heads back to his console and tries to ignore the sudden tremor in his hands.

***

Weeks pass, and Alex stops thinking about it.

Yeah, no. Alex thinks about it all the time. He sneaks not-so-subtle looks at Amos when Holden and Naomi aren't around. Wakes up in a sweat more often than not and grumbles about the hard-on he's forced to settle at three in the morning. Amos doesn't give a shit, as usual. He chats with Naomi and shoots the shit with Holden as usal. He bothers Alex too, laughing about some stupid thing or other. Amos greets him every morning with a clap on the back. Must not think it hurts, but it does, big as he is. Alex pushes on the bruises sometimes in his bunk, feels the ache shoot through his body.

Alex retreats more often to his captain’s seat. He works through navigation sequences again, and again. Anything to get his mind off the blood pumping too hot in his veins.

Why is Alex jonesing for something he didn't want in the first place? He never even thought about it until Amos asked if he wanted to fuck. Goddamn Amos, putting fool ideas in his brain.

"Hey." Speak of the devil.

Alex doesn't like people up here. The nav platform is his. The guns and ground game? That belongs with the rest of the crew. They take those hits and misses. Alex's are in the pilot's chair.

As usual, Amos doesn't care. He waits on the top step, and Alex finally breaks down. "Need something?" he mutters.

"You spend too much time with the ship, man,” Amos remarks. “Can't be healthy."

Alex keeps his back turned. "I'm busy.”

"Yeah?" As usual, Amos doesn't take the hint. He climbs the rest of the way into Alex’s space and drapes forearms over the back of his chair. "With what?" Amos asks, peering at the nav screen.

"Nothing you can help with," Alex grumbles.

Amos stays where he is. "Mind if I watch?"

Alex _does_ mind, but he's too proud to say so. "Whatever. Might learn something."

"Hell yeah," Amos agrees. "Bet you could teach me plenty, Alex."

There’s something Alex doesn’t like lurking behind his words. He tips his head and glares at Amos upside-down. "The hell's that mean?"

Amos flashes a smile. Some goddamn traitor thing twists in Alex's stomach. "You gonna let me watch or not, Martian?" he asks.

Alex rounds his chair to face Amos. Provoking the guy at the top level of the Roci isn't smart, but Alex is too pissed off to care. For all he knows, this whole thing was a joke from the start. A way for Amos to have some fun, no different from a spit-wet finger in Alex’s ear.

"You know what? I'm not gonna let you watch, partner," Alex tells him. "I'm working up here. You got something to say, you go on and say it. But don't-"

Alex has so much more to say. But Amos is kissing him, and he can't get the words out. Amos is _kissing him_.

How Amos manages to close the distance between them in less than a blink, Alex has no clue. He's by the steps one second, and the next he's in Alex's face. All Alex can do is back up on a console. His cut lip stings. Amos swipes his thumb across Alex's cheekbone and - fuck, that's all it takes for Alex’s pants to get tight.

Alex gets his wits back enough to shove Amos' chest. The guy's a damn boulder, Alex's best effort only gets Amos back one step. His eyes are too dark, but it's the mouth that holds Alex's attention. Pink and wet; something demanding spills through Alex's gut. "The hell are you doing?"

Amos frowns. "You said you wanted this."

"I didn't say I wanted it in my damn nav chair!"

As soon as the words are out, Alex knows he's done. He's thrown it out there that he wants this, now he’s screwed. Amos isn’t dumb. He gets it fast, and his eyes light up like trouble. Alex wishes he could tell Amos off. He's not this hard up for a lay, thanks.

Only, _he is_. He's woken up in a sweat every night, and he can't keep jerking off to what Amos _might_ feel like. One kiss has Alex amped up like party drugs. His body itches, fuzzed over and warm.

"C’mon, Alex. Give me some credit. I know how much your chair means to you." Amos is all sarcasm, cocky-ass bastard. Alex wants to rip his flight suit off.

Amos' body is too good on him. Big and strong, two things Alex wouldn't have expected to want. He's been with men, sure. Navy stint in close quarters before he settled down. But he went for men like his women. Slender, soft. He didn't think much of it at the time.

"You ruined it, Alex,” Amos murmurs. “I had a plan and everything.”

“Can’t make things too easy for ya.” Alex hates how his own voice sounds, distant and rough. He curses when Amos’ mouth grazes his neck. “What was the plan?” he asks as an afterthought. Alex skims fingers under his shirt even though he knows better. Takes in the low cut of his cargoes, the slice of his pelvis forming a “V” that disappears under his belt.

“I was thinking…” Amos’ voice hums across Alex’s skin. Alex makes a sound he wishes he could take back. “You've been wound up too tight, man. You need to relax for once.” The bastard saying ‘relax’ shouldn’t be so goddamn good. Alex is less self-conscious about his next sound, or the way his body rocks towards Amos’. “Thought I'd kiss you if you let me. Seems like your thing. You're kinda soft.” He rubs a thumb over Alex’s scarred lip. A twinge of pain answers, sharp and exciting.

Startled, Alex smacks his hand away. “Shut up,” he grumbles. But a second later, Alex is the one grabbing a fist full of Amos’ shirt. The forwardness seems to surprise Amos. His mouth slacks, and Alex takes advantage. Urges his lips apart, a short noise of frustration as Amos’ arms wind around him. Alex hooks hands in Amos’ clothes. Amos doesn’t make a sound, but Alex feels a little shiver run through him. It’s small, vulnerable, and hot as a goddamn sun.

“So what?” Alex demands. “This is all for me? You’re not getting one goddamn thing out of it?”

Amos shrugs. “Hell, I've wanted to do you for awhile.”

Alex stutters to a stop. “What?”

“Yeah.” Amos’ cocks his head. Licks his lips too, damned if Alex doesn’t feel that right between the legs. “Thought it’d be fun. Then you got all weird on me. Kinda surprised you’re going for it now.”

Bullshit. Amos knew Alex would go for it from the start. Amos isn’t exactly the type to doubt himself. But Alex thinks about the nervous tick after the bar. ‘You told me to help, so I did.’ Even now, Amos is hesitating. Arms loose around Alex’s waist. Patiently waiting for Alex to affirm that he’s good with this. Like Alex’s half-hard cock isn’t proof enough.

Alex’s eyes narrow. “What else were you going to do?”

“Thought you’d like it better in your bunk. Little more private, so… Thought we’d go there, and I’d see what you need.”

It’s like bait dangling for a fish. “We should do that,” Alex decides.

Amos raises a brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Alex drags a hand down the small of his back. Amos shifts forward, and Alex grits his teeth. He can feel the outline of Amos’ shaft through his flight suit.

“Works for me,” Amos says. Casual, awkward too. His eyes betray a hint of doubt, and Alex follows the thread like an eager needle. Tightens fingers in the small of Amos’ back, shifts up to kiss him. A peek tells him Amos’ eyes are closed, those long-ass lashes sitting serene. Alex’s hand is on Amos’ face before he can stop himself. Thumb across his cheek, and down his bruised jaw. Amos snorts.

If they don’t move now, they won’t move ever. As hard as Alex wants this right now, he’s got to maintain the Roci’s dignity. “You first,” he says, nodding at the steps.

Amos’ expression soften to amused acceptance. “You got it, chief.” He keeps his eyes on Alex the whole way down.

If Alex weren’t such a gentleman, he’d let Amos go on his merry way and not follow. Give him a taste of his own asshole medicine for once. But Alex _is_ a gentleman, and a horny one at that. He’s down the lift as soon as he hears Amos’ boots hit the ground floor. Amos nods at him, can’t be any different from his usual greeting, but it feels different. Makes Alex’s heart jump a few notches as they start towards his bunk. 

As they walk Alex slides a hand up the back of Amos’ shirt. Kneads into the space where his shirt ends and his unzipped flight suit begins. The crease of his ass draws Alex’s thumb, stroked pressure into the edge of Amos’ tailbone.

“Don’t do that,” Amos says.

The words are quiet and serious, and Alex pulls his hand back immediately. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “You hurt or something?”

“No,” Amos answers. “But if you do that, we won’t make it to your bunk.”

Damned if the words don’t make Alex go jelly-legged. How the hell can the guy sound composed but say something like _that_? It’s not right _or_ fair. All Alex manages is a stupid-sounding, “Got it.”

Now that he knows he can’t touch, it’s all he wants to do. Say ‘privacy be damned’ and snake his arms around Amos. Coast fingers up his ribs. Settle up against his back. Not like Jim and Naomi were ever too good at secrets. What right would they have to talk?

Alex’s bunk is around the corner, but it feels like a lifetime away. By the time they reach it, he’s obsessed with the heaviness of Amos’ boots on the grate floors. He’s fixed on the broadness of Amos’ shoulders, the build of his arms, the tattoos threaded across his skin. His thick thighs, his big hands, the shape of his hard-on forming under his flight suit.

Alex hasn’t been with a guy in forever. He’s never been with one like Amos _period_. This is a terrible idea.

Then, they’re in Alex’s bunk and Amos is taking off his shirt. Alex drinks in the dip of his spine. The lines of his abs. His chest, chiseled out like some goddamn statue. The slightest softness at his hips to keep him human. And that damn ‘V,’ deep lines that cut into the waist of Amos’ unzipped suit.

Alex pauses on the purple and blue swatches on Amos’ ribs.

Amos has an eyebrow up and arms extended. “This ain’t a strip show.”

“You’ve been hiding those ribs,” Alex accuses.

Amos doesn't deny it, or apologize. “You don’t see me giving you grief for that lip,” he argues instead.

“Seriously?” Alex balks. “Like you never gave me shit.”

“I didn’t,” Amos insists. “I said you should’ve stayed out of it. You should have. That punk kicked the crap out of you.”

Alex throws his hands up. “Jesus, _someone_ had to do something when you went down for the count. All I got was a busted lip. Look at you. You’ve been nursing those ribs for weeks.”

“Yeah well, I can handle it,” Amos says.

“You saying I can’t?”

“Nah. I’m saying you’re stalling. Take your goddamn shirt off, Alex.” Amos is staring at him. Hands propped on his waist. Body like a bruised up bronze. Muscles on top of muscles, the cut of his pelvis damn-well _obscene._

Alex grumbles about it being ridiculous. But the fact is, his hands are shaking as pulls off his shirt and tosses it to the ground. He’s got nothing to hide, but he’s a man, and he ain’t perfect. Gut's a little softer since his Navy days, and he never bothered with the shaving shit. Stomach and chest brushed in a dark layer of hair. “It’s off,” he retorts. “You happy- What the- _fuck_ , Amos!”

He hisses when his back hits the wall of his bunk. Alex starts to shove him back, but finds his wrists pinned. Back fixed to the wall. Amos’ mouth over his. Hot and insistent, and Alex is a goner. He’s groaning and never once thinks about fighting. All he wants to do is touch, but he can’t. Amos' hands have his wrists trapped against the wall. Amos arches over him, legs fixed tight to his. He’s hard and warm, and Alex’s body responds immediately.

A sound pulls Alex back. Rumbled and surprising, and he realizes Amos is _laughing_. Alex’s temper flares, and he shoves at the hands pinning him down. “The hell’s wrong with you?” he demands.

“First time in my life I can say patience is a virtue, that’s all.” Amos mouths through Alex’s beard. Follows his jaw to his ear. His hands sift through the hair on Alex’s belly. “Been waiting for you a long time, brother.”

“Christ, shut up,” Alex grumbles, but the words have no force behind them. His voice is a sigh, and his eyes close. His hands are restless, too much body to grab. They comb down Amos’ chest. Hook into his shoulders. Flatten down his spine. Dig under the unzipped flight pants. He’s got briefs on underneath, molded like a glove to his ass. It's as thick as the rest of him. Amos juts forward encouragingly.

Alex pretends he doesn’t hear Amos huff another laugh against his ear. Hot and too close, fingers seeming to want to touch everything that once. Kneading into Alex’s skin. Flattening across his throat. Scraping across his nipples, making Alex hiss.

“You’re an asshole,” Alex reminds him. His voice is rough as a lagging engine.

“You bet,” Amos agrees, and he doesn't sound all too sorry about it. His hand follows Alex’s neck to his jaw. Splaying across his face. Alex twists, torn between air and biting at his fingers. Amos’ skin tastes salty. Something heavy and impatient shivers in Alex’s gut.

Alex doesn't expect Amos’ voice, jumps a little when it shivers in his ear. “So, what’s next? Where do you want me?”

“What?” Alex asks, voice muffled, hand covered by Amos’ palm. He’s been sucking on his hand. Not his proudest moment.

“You gotta fuck me, remember?” Alex didn’t remember. Amos looks on expectantly. “That's the whole point.”

“That's _your_ point,” Alex reminds him, irritated. “You're the one who thought I needed to prove something. I don’t have to prove a goddamn thing.”

Amos frowns. “So...you don’t want to fuck me.”

Alex definitely isn’t saying that. He spreads a hand across the small of Amos’ back. He hooks his hand, forces Amos up on him. His body grinds up so suddenly that Alex can't bite back his groan.

He forces his eyes open in time to see Amos’ closing. “Oh, I want to,” Alex tells him. He drags fingers under Amos' briefs. When Amos’ hips rock forward, Alex can tell he’s thicker.

“So, what-”

Alex cuts him off. “I fuck you. That’s the plan, right?”

Amos’ eyes narrow. “Yeah?”

“That’s it then,” Alex says. “I fuck you, and you shut the hell up. That’s what I want.”

If possible, Amos looks even more confused. “How am I supposed to know what you want if you don’t tell me?”

Alex could do without all the feelings the dumb question makes him feel. Something shudders in his chest, and his knees get jelly-ish. The words themselves are stupid, _beyond_ stupid. But they’re offered in earnest, not a crumb of irony to them. Amos has gone through some shit. Alex has no idea what it is, but he has. And Alex doesn’t want him thinking of it now. Just wants him to react, dangerous as that is for a guy like Amos.

“You’ll know what I want,” Alex says. Amos frowns like he doesn’t buy it, but he nods anyway. He trusts Alex, and he doesn’t argue anymore.

Alex cups his jaw, stares up at him. He watches Amos’ expression shift. Curiously, Amos leans into his touch. Watches through darker eyes as Alex licks his lips.

When Amos kisses him again, Alex huffs his approval. He lets Amos work his mouth open. Teeth scrape his bottom lip and pull him forward. Amos’ tongue teases against his lips. Alex feels the scratch of his stubble. Hands canvass his chest. A pinch of a calloused thumb on his nipple, and he gasps. Amos follows his jaw down to his throat. Bites through his beard. Follows it down to the smoother skin of his neck.

Alex hooks a hand under Amos’ chin. Amos stares up at him with narrow eyes. It’s not an angry look. After a deliberating moment, he kisses Alex harder than before. Alex grunts approval and shoves Amos' underwear down his thighs. Amos follows his lead, unzipping the rest of Alex’s flight suit. Alex’s skin goosebumps in the open air. They're moving suddenly, pulling each other until Alex’s ass knocks against his desk. He hisses under Amos’ snort of amusement. Rifles blindly in the top drawer for his lube.

Amos waits for him next to the bed. Alex glances at the purple splotches around his ribs. “You sure you’re good for this?” he asks.

“You saying I can’t handle one goddamn Martian?” Amos grins, and Alex’s old irritation sparks.

“I’ll see what you can handle,” Alex mutters. The threat falls flat; Amos just nods, eyes hooded and hot. Excitement pricks Alex’s body like patchwork.

Alex can’t hold out when Amos kisses him again. He steps right up on Amos’ body when a big arm loops around his waist. Leans into the thumb that scratches through his beard. Amos backs them towards the bed, and Alex follows right along. He grunts his surprise when Amos sits first. Amos' attention turns south, arm still around Alex’s waist. He bites Alex’s stomach, stubble scuffing his skin.

But Amos backs away just as quick, leaves Alex gaping as he leans back on his hands. “You got some work to do,” Amos says.

Alex’s first instinct is to be annoyed, because his first instinct with Amos is always to be annoyed. Until he realizes what ‘work to do’ means in this context. It flusters him a bit, makes his mouth open in soundless surprise. Not that he didn’t think Amos would be good on his word, but...it doesn’t seem like him to give up control without a fight. Or does it?

“You’re sure about this?” Alex asks.

Amos shrugs from the bed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Alex isn’t answering that. Frustration and embarrassment make his hands twitch around the lube bottle. But he still gets it open, coats his hands and wraps one around himself. Amos’ eyes fshift downward. Alex wonders whether Amos has done this before, how damn tight he’s going to feel.

He joins Amos on the bed, lathering his hands with fresh oil. “Turn around,” he says.

A crease forms between Amos’ brows. “Why?”

“I’ve gotta prep you.”

Amos looks more confused. “Why do I have to turn around for that?”

“You…” Alex frowns. “It’s easier, isn’t it?”

“I guess.” Amos doesn’t sound thrilled. “I kinda wanted to watch. But we can do it that way. You told me to shut the hell up, so-”

“I mean, I don’t care. It’s up to you.” But as Alex shifts between Amos’ legs, he finds he is a bit unnatural with Amos’ eyes on him. He would be with anyone, the few men he’s been with always turned around for this part. But especially with Amos, who has eyes like tractor beams. He follows Alex all the way between his thighs. Follows as Alex urges him awkwardly to spread his legs. Somehow, even from this vulnerable angle, Amos seems huge. His legs are all muscle, stained by Alex’s lubed hands. Tattoos and scars paint the picture of his life. His cock is big and red, bobbing over his stomach. His balls are already a deep color, hanging heavy as he opens his legs.

It takes gentle nudging to work an index finger into him. Crown pulled tense despite the relaxed expression on Amos’ face. Working in to the first knuckle tells Alex all he needs to know. Amos is tight as hell. Probably hasn’t done this in years.

“This ok?” Alex asks. It’s a little ridiculous to talk a big boy like Amos through like a virgin. But Alex...cares about hurting him. It’s a weird realization. Alex isn’t sure what to do with it.

“Mmhm,” Amos answers, reaching for the lube. As Alex eases more of his index in, Amos coats a hand and begins to stroke himself. Oil gleams over his shaft. A faint warmth touches his skin, something satisfied and encouraging. Alex feels some of the tension give way, enough to stretch him out further.

When Alex adds a second finger, Amos blows out a breath. His eyes angle down his own body, to Alex’s hand between his legs. Amusement and interest mingle on his face. He’s so attentive, Alex wants to get it right. To scissor and stroke at the right speed. To coax out those faint hums and make Amos’ hand twitch around his own cock.

He coaxes in a third finger. A slow twist, knuckles swallowed by the tight embrace of Amos’ body. Amos eases back further, eyes hooded and hot. He’s watching too close. Scrapes teeth across his bottom lip, as if he's fully in control. Vulnerable as Alex has him, he’s still on top of the world. It’s aggravating, and it makes Alex more determined.

“You good?’ Alex asks.

A quirk of Amos' lips. “Lay it on me, brother,” he says.

Alex wants to break that smug look off his face. He's a little unsteady as he fits between Amos big-ass thighs. Amos' head cocks, eyes bright like he's got a secret.

Alex braces hands on Amos’ waist. Even slicked up and loose, Alex feels wrapped up as he eases in. It's like he’s pushing into one big muscle - hell, he basically is. His own breaths sound loud. Amos fists himself towards towards Alex’s belly. A hitched breath as Alex eases in further, blown out on a smirk. “You got it,” Amos tells him. “Let’s go.”

Seems like a waste to speed it up though. Inching in, Alex can feel Amos’ body stretch. More and more of his cock swallowed up. Amos’ knees push up on his sides hard enough to bruise. It’s a hell of a challenge, finding a soft spot on him. Opening up a thing that’s so damn solid.

Amos squeezes the head of his own cock. His body juts in answer, an arch that Alex meets with a smack of skin. It takes him a second to remember to open his eyes. “Fuck,” Alex manages. Amos is a goddamn glove on him. He’s supposed to be the one in control here. He’s supposed to be in control, but… Damn it. _Damn it._

Alex is screwed, all goosebumps and heat. When Amos sits up to meet him, he leans right on in. Amos’ glossed cock slicks up his belly. Alex rakes hands down his back. Their proximity makes his thrusts short and hard. Amos eases back enough for Alex to lean over him. Amos' cock is hard on his stomach, and now he’s thinking about it inside him. How goddamn much Amos will have to loosen him up to fit it. The thought _excites_ him. Alex is fucked. He’s so fucked.

Amos’ mouth twitches under Alex’s, as if sensing his thoughts. “Mmhm,” rumbles between them. Alex feels him fist himself, knuckles pressed low on Alex’s belly. He pushes into them. Angles further into Amos. Amos grunts approval, and Alex follows the sound. He’s already feeling out of his head. Already thinking of how much he doesn’t need the control. How he’d be fine without it. The cot springs yelp, not made for this much weight. Alex rakes hands down his chest. Grazes his stomach, notes Amos' quick breath when his ribs are tested.

Alex pushes his knee out wider, fucks him deeper. He gets a, “Yeah,” for his effort, and teeth tugging on his bottom lip. Alex comes right back for more. He’s aware of every shift of Amos’ body. Alex’s heart is hammering. Every inch of him feels like static. He wishes the grav was out in here. Wishes being weighed down to the bed wouldn't limit how deep he can fuck. Maybe next time they can…

Screwed. He's so screwed.

Amos is a little winded when he murmurs, “Fuck, you look good like that.”

Alex doesn’t even bother asking ‘like what.’ Isn’t sure he could manage words if he wanted to. He forces Amos’ knee further apart. Angles his waist. Feels him out. Deeper, harder. Until- “ _shit_ ,” and a buck of Amos’ hips. His smile finally drifts, his eyes out of focus. A moment is all Alex needs. Hell, it’s all he has.

He follows it, fingers digging into Amos’ thighs. Fucks him so hard that his stomach starts to clench. Alex feels him tense, looping tighter - _too tight_. Alex hisses, scrambling, mumbling something that makes no sense. And then he’s coming before he can bite it back. Spills out, hips jerking. Sweat dots his forehead and leaves a shine of his back.

“Damn it,” he grumbles, voice like grinding rocks. He plants hands on Amos’ waist to hold himself upright. Can't believe he's done so fast.

“s’all good,” Amos tells him. He doesn't sound like himself either. A little too quiet, voice unsteady enough to notice. Amos jerks himself off the rest of the way, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It only takes a minute or two. He jerks forward with a grunt, his orgasm coming on without a fight. His eyes close for a moment. With his head bowed, Alex can see how warm his face is. Amos blows out a breath through curled lips. It’s a good look for him.

Alex eases himself out, glad to be off his knees. Can’t do this like he used to.

Amos sits up after him. He’s stained with his own release, cum on bruised ribs. “Hey, Alex,” he says.

“Yeah?”

Amos’ eyes glitter. “Not bad, brother.”

Alex scowls. “I should slug you one of these days. Seriously.”

“Yeah, you should,” Amos agrees. When he kisses Alex, Alex falls right into it. Angles his head, lets Amos ease his lips apart. Minutes pass without air. He loses track of time.

“You’re good at this,” Amos says somewhere in the middle. After a few minutes. Or twenty.

“Sure am,” Alex says, and they’re right back at it. Maybe Amos is following him, or he’s following Amos. Damned if he knows anymore. Damned if he cares.

* The End *


End file.
